


The Fall of a Sparrow

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-18
Updated: 2000-02-18
Packaged: 2018-11-10 17:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11131725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ben Fraser remembers the days surrounding the death of his mother.





	The Fall of a Sparrow

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

The Fall of a Sparrow

## The Fall of a Sparrow

by Mary

Author's notes: A prequel to "To Grandmother's House We Go."

* * *

NOTES: When I was eleven years old, my little brother died suddenly. It was devastating. Things like that just don't happen to you. They happen to other people. Until, of course, it does happen to you and, as a result, your world is changed forever. Besides the pain of loss, I have two very vivid sensory memories. One is of the eerie hush that seemed to fall over our house during the days following the tragedy. The other is fear. Fear about death. Fear about life where death is a reality. Fear about what was going to happen to my family because of this experience. Even today, almost thirty years later, I can't bare to remember the acute anguish I had to watch consume my parents. I honestly didn't see how they could survive it. And I don't even want to imagine what it would be like to lose your mother when you are a child, such as happened to Ben Fraser. (Apparently, my subconscious does, as it forced me to write this story.) 

DISCLAIMER: I tried not to write this, but sometimes things happen and there's nothing you can do about it. The only compensation I'm getting from Alliance's characters and events is a little catharsis. I'll try not to spend it all in one place. 

Drama; Rated R (some language); Hints at COTW, but no real spoilers 

**THE FALL OF A SPARROW**

By Mary 

It would have been very easy for me to forget everything I ever knew about my mother. I was only six years old when she died, leaving me in the care of my grandparents. My father was rarely home to begin with, due to his duties as a Mountie, but after Mum's death, his visits became even shorter and more infrequent. He had less reason to be at home, I suppose. No, that's not really fair. I've come to realize that it was his inability to cope with memories of Mum that kept him away, although since I didn't possess that understanding at the time, I took it as a personal slight. As a suddenly motherless boy, I wanted desperately to remember Mum with my dad, to retain something of that part of my life that died with her: namely, my family. But my father did not seem to need that -- or me. I don't honestly remember if he ever actually told me not to talk about my mother, but that was the message I received from him. And, while I don't blame him for that anymore, I do regret that he felt it necessary to distance himself as he did. 

So, no, it wouldn't have been surprising if I'd forgotten everything about that previous life, the family we once were. My world was different from the moment Mum left it. I was different. Dad was different. Even Grandma and Grandpa were different, as they became my parents instead of my grandparents. But when I close my eyes and go back, I can remember. I can conjure my mum and all of us, just as we were on that last day we spent together. 

* * *

"Let's go for a walk, honey," Mum said as she took my hand in hers to lead me outdoors. As soon as she'd finished cleaning up after breakfast, she told me that she and Dad were going away again for a while and I was to stay with Grandma and Grandpa, as usual. It had only been a little more than a week since they'd returned home from an absence of almost two months. "We'll take some bread down to the river and you can feed the fish." 

"The fish can feed themselves, Caroline," Dad interrupted from his seat at the kitchen table where he was cleaning his guns. 

"It won't hurt anything if Ben gives them a little treat, dear." 

"My son will not be feeding anything that is perfectly capable of caring for itself. That's the cause of so many of the world's problems. Everything's too easy. We don't know how to work for our survival anymore." 

"I hardly think that by giving a few fish some scraps of bread Ben will be " 

"He is NOT to feed the fish, and that is final!" Dad commanded. 

Mum didn't say anything. She knew that Dad would apologize for yelling once he'd had time to reflect on it. He always did. He could never stay mad at Mum for more than a few seconds, maybe a minute if he was really mad. She had a special power over him. A calming power. 

"I'm sorry," he said with a sigh and closed his eyes, momentarily ceasing his work. "I'm a bit on edge. It's this Muldoon case " 

"I know, Bob." Mum planted a kiss on top of Dad's head, and he reached back and took her hands and brought them around until they were each met with the loving touch of his lips. 

"I wouldn't ever feed the fish, Dad," I announced, hoping my father would bestow a little of his affection on me. 

"You'd better not, or you're no son of mine!" he bellowed back, crushing my already fragile spirits. 

"Robert!" Mum scolded. "What a thing to say! Of course he's your son and always will be!" 

"Now, Caroline, I never said he wasn't. I was just making a point. You know that." 

"Yes, I know it, but Ben's just a little boy. He doesn't need to hear words like that from his father." 

Dad sighed deeply and looked down at the table. "You're my son, Benton. Understood?" 

"Yes, Sir," I whispered back. Why did I feel like I had just done something wrong? 

Mum came back over to me and took my hand. "Let's go for that walk now." 

"I don't wanna," I answered and pulled my hand away from hers. 

"Benny, what's the matter? You love to go for walks with me." 

"I don't wanna," I repeated insistently. 

"What do you want to do, then?" 

"Nothin'." 

"Oh, come on. There must be something you'd like to do." 

I hesitated, then replied, "I wanna go with you and Dad tomorrow." 

"I'm afraid that's impossible, honey," she answered, running her fingers through my hair. 

"How come?" 

"It just is, dear. This isn't a vacation. Your father's going to be working. You wouldn't have any fun, believe me. You'll be much better off at Grandma and Grandpa's." 

"Then why are you goin' if it's not gonna be fun?" 

"Well..." 

"Benton, don't pester your mother with silly questions," Dad said absent-mindedly without looking up from his guns. 

I ignored him. "You and Dad just got home and you're leavin' again. How come I never get to go with you? It's not fair." 

"There is a reason, honey, but it's grown-up stuff. It's not anything I can explain to a little boy. But I promise you I'm not going to leave you every time your father's work takes him away. This is just for a little while. Okay?" 

"But why " 

"One more word, Son, and you'll be sent to your room for the rest of the day," Dad warned sternly. It was obvious that he was not in a patient mood, and I should have heeded that warning. 

I looked at Dad, who didn't look up, and then at Mum, who smiled sweetly at me. Suddenly, a phrase came to mind. A phrase I'd overheard my dad use the night before while letting off steam about the frustrating case he was working on. He'd had no idea I was listening, of course, or he never would have said what he said. I knew it was not something I should repeat because Mum had reprimanded Dad for using words he wouldn't want his son to hear. Nevertheless, I blurted it out loud and clear. 

"You're a lying fucker!" I shouted at Mum. 

I didn't even have time to enjoy her reaction because a split second later Dad had me by the collar with one hand while, with the other, he quickly removed his belt from around his waist. Ignoring my feeble protests, he bent me over the kitchen table and took my backside to task. 

It wasn't very often that I got spanked, and whenever I did it was usually one quick sting from Dad's belt to the seat of my pants, intended more to get my attention than to punish. In fact, the smacking that my mum once gave me with a wooden spoon after I accidentally set fire to a pot holder while playing with the burners on the stove was harsher than most of Dad's swats. But it was Mum, rather than me, who went crying to her room after that incident, and she never had the heart to repeat that action. Of course, I steered clear of the stove after that, as well. 

Dad wasn't his usual self on that day, however, and I felt the effects of his frustration quite acutely. When, on about the fourth whack, I uttered an 'ow,' Mum stepped towards us saying, "Okay, Bob, that's enough." Dad relented immediately, lifted me off the table by my neck, and followed up the belting with a strong verbal reprimand. 

"Where do you get off speaking to your mother like that?" he screamed in my face. 

I couldn't answer him. My lips were already trembling and I knew that if I opened my mouth to speak, I would soon be crying outright. I also knew that Dad had reason to be very upset with me. So I just hung my head and let Dad rage while I tried to rub some of the sting from my behind. 

"I am thoroughly ashamed of you, Benton! Thoroughly ashamed! If you think for one minute that you're gonna be allowed to use such language to your mother or to anyone else you'd better think again, Mister!" 

"Calm down, Bob," Mum interjected as she came over and took Dad's hand from my neck and then pulled me to her. 

"Now, Caroline, I am not going to stand by and listen to my son call his mother...what he just called you!" 

"Of course not, dear. Neither would I." I wrapped my arms around Mum's legs and hid my face in her skirt as she spoke. "You've spanked him, so I'm sure he knows he was naughty and must never do it again. Right, Ben?" she asked, pulling me off her to look me in the face. 

"Yes, Mum," I answered with a controlled sob. 

"I haven't heard you apologize yet!" Dad reminded me with raised voice. 

"I'm sorry, Mum," I offered contritely through stiff lips. 

"Did you know what you were saying, honey?" she asked me. 

I hesitated to answer. 

"Your mother asked you a question, Son," Dad prompted me. 

"Yes, Mum." 

"You knew it was not a nice thing to say?" 

I nodded, then explained further. "I heard...somebody...say that when they were mad." 

"I see." Mum and Dad exchanged knowing, uncomfortable glances. "And you were mad at me, so you repeated what you heard this other person say?" 

"I'm not mad anymore." I was dying for a sign that I was forgiven. I couldn't bare the thought of losing my mum's love. 

"I'm glad to hear that. Anger only makes you do things that you regret later on." 

"What's 'regret' mean?" 

"It means you're sorry you did it." 

"Oh. Then I won't be anger anymore." 

"Angry." 

"I won't be angry anymore." 

Mum smiled and caressed my face with her fingertips. "Good boy. I hope you never are angry again. Now, come give me a hug," she invited as she crouched in front of me. I ran into her arms and we squeezed each other tight. 

"All right, Benton, go to your room," Dad ordered. 

"Huh?" I relaxed my hold on Mum and turned to face him. 

"You heard me. I told you you'd spend the rest of the day in your room if you didn't stop pestering your mother. Now go on." 

"But, Dad, you and Mum are leaving tomorrow." 

"You shoulda thought of that before you disobeyed me." 

"Do I hafta, Mum?" I pleaded for her further intervention. 

"If your father tells you you have to, you have to, honey." 

A tear finally broke free of the duct and began to descend my face. "Can't you make him change his mind?" I asked softly, hoping Dad wouldn't hear. 

Mum hugged me again then put her face in mine and said, "Give me a kiss." We kissed each other on the lips, after which Mum wiped the tear from my face then nodded in the direction of my bedroom. "You'd best do as your father says. We'll go for lots of walks when I get home, okay?" 

As I nodded, another tear escaped my eye, and I immediately brushed it away. I slowly started to make my way to my room, figuring that once I was safely behind closed doors I'd be free to have a proper cry. 

"I'll let you know when you may come out," Dad advised me after I passed him. 

I turned to look at him and said, with hope in my voice, "I don't hafta stay in there all day?" 

"I'll let you know," he repeated firmly. "And no playing in there. You're being punished. I expect to find you in your bed." 

"'Kay, Dad," I replied, then hurried to my room. 

* * *

Sure enough, within the hour Dad sat down on my bed and woke me with a gentle nudge to my shoulder. 

"Hi, Dad." 

"Hello, Son." 

"I'm sorry I made you mad." 

"I'm sorry you did, too." He winked quickly at me. "I'm sorry I had to punish you, but I can't say I'm sorry I did. You understand?" 

"I dunno." 

"Spare the rod, spoil the child. Ever hear that?" 

"Uh-uh." 

"It means I'm gonna have to punish you when you're naughty or you'll think you can do whatever the hell you want -- er, I mean, whatever you feel like doing. That's how my parents raised me, and I reckon it'll work just fine with you, too." But despite this statement of philosophy, Dad never again spanked me. There were occasional threats and a couple times it seemed inevitable, but Dad always found an alternative. 

"Okay." I furrowed my brow at him, fearing he didn't like me at all anymore. 

Dad must have understood my fear because he began to squeeze my shoulder comfortingly as he paused in thought and regarded me with a softened expression. "Your mum is a very special lady, Benton," he stated gently. 

"I know, Dad. I love Mum." 

"I know you do, Son. But you must understand that special ladies like your mum must be treated specially. You must never do or say anything mean to them like what you said this morning." 

"I won't ever do it again. I promise." 

"Good man. Neither will I." He winked at me again and smiled. I grinned and threw my arms around him in an embrace and he immediately pulled away and gently pried my arms off of him. 

"Are you still mad at me?" I asked, hurt by his resistance to my affection. 

"No. Like your mother said, anger only makes you do something you regret later on. Are you ready to behave yourself now?" 

"Yes." 

"Then you may leave your room if you'd like." 

"Thanks, Dad." 

"You're welcome. Why don't you pack your bag for Grandma and Grandpa's and then go see your mother. She, uh, she wants to see you." 

"Okay." I sat and watched Dad get up and start to leave the room. As he got to the door, I asked, "How long are you gonna be gone this time? You and Mum?" 

"As long as it takes, Son. And then we'll be back." 

"Both of you?" 

"Both of us." 

* * *

I found Mum sitting in the rocking chair in her bedroom putting needle and thread to one of Dad's socks. I entered the room quietly and went to stand at her side, resting my hand on the arm of the chair, and Mum paused from her work long enough to lean over and kiss my cheek. I knew the earlier incident was forgotten. 

"Whatcha doin'?" I asked, looking at the sock, rather than at her. 

"Darnin' your father's socks. He's gonna need them." 

I gave Mum a look of shock, which she noticed right away. 

"Is something wrong, honey?" 

"You just said a bad word," I told her, trying not to sound accusatory. 

Mum laughed heartily and dropped her hands into her lap. I was embarrassed and stood there, wrinkling my face in confusion. 

"I didn't say a bad word, honey," she continued to laugh, and I blushed deeper as she explained. "This is a darning needle. I'm using it to mend the holes in Daddy's socks." 

"It's not a bad word?" 

"No." 

"I wouldn't get in trouble if I said it?" 

"Not if you were talking about darning socks." 

I thought for a minute, then asked, "Can you fix my darn socks, too?" 

Mum laughed even harder at that. So much so that she had to wipe tears from her eyes. "Certainly, dear," she answered and then leaned over and kissed my forehead. "Bring them to me and I'll fix them right up for you." 

"I put 'em in my bag to take to Grandma and Grandpa's." 

"You packed socks that have holes in them?" 

"Uh huh. They're my favorite ones." 

"I see. Well, when I finish with these, we'll go take a look in your bag, eh. Maybe we can fix 'em and they'll still be your favorites." 

"'Kay." 

"Where's your father?" 

"I dunno. He told me I could come outta my room after I packed my stuff." 

"Did he help you pack?" 

"No. I did it all by myself," I answered proudly. 

"Did you now? So, what did you pack besides your holey socks?" 

"Um, my clothes and stuff." 

"Your favorite stuff?" 

"Uh huh," I answered sadly, not looking forward to leaving Mum and Dad again. 

"You're going to be a brave boy about this, aren't you? No complaints when we drop you off at your grandparents' house? Your father will be very upset if you give us a hard time." 

"I know. I won't. I promise, Mummy." 

"That's my good boy!" She looked at me and smiled excitedly. "I've got a surprise for you." 

"A su'prise? What is it?" 

"I was going to give it to you tomorrow before we leave, but I think maybe you could use a surprise right now." 

"What is it, Mummy?" I demanded impatiently, tugging on her arm. 

"Patience, honey, patience. It's under the bed. Go get it." 

She didn't have to add those last three words. As soon as she told me where it was, I was off. I got down on my stomach and crept my way under the bed toward the object I found wrapped up in brown paper and tied with a string. I backed out from under the bed, pulling the surprise with me, until I sat on the floor, looking at the package with disbelief and curiosity. 

"Well, aren't you going to unwrap it? I think you'll have more fun with it that way," Mum joked. 

I pulled on the string to release the knot and ripped the paper away in a frenzy to discover the hidden treasure. My eyes widened and my mouth opened in awe when I saw my surprise. "Oh my gosh!" was all I could say. 

"Do you like it, honey?" 

"Mum, it's a bulldozer!" 

"Yes, I know. You wanted one, didn't you?" 

"More than anything in the whole wide world! How'd you know?" 

"Grandpa told me. He said you asked for one for your birthday, but he and Grandma had already bought you something else." 

I wondered just how much Grandpa had told my mum about my birthday, but I decided he must not have told her much because she didn't seem mad at me. 

"Happy birthday, Ben. I'm sorry I wasn't here on your special day. I promise I won't miss another birthday, honey." 

I looked at Mum and saw sincere regret on her face, and it pierced my heart to see her in such a state. I jumped up from the floor and ran to her, leapt onto her lap and flung my arms around her neck as I kissed her vehemently to show her all was forgiven. When I pulled my head back and looked at her face, I noticed her eyes were brimming with tears. 

"Don't cry, Mum. It's okay." 

"I love you, Benny. I love you more than anyone else in the whole wide world." 

"Me too, Mum. I love you the best," I said, burrowing my face into her chest. 

Mum dropped her darning to the floor and held me close as she began to rock the chair back and forth. "I hate to leave you. I hate it as much as you do. But sometimes we have to do things we hate to do." 

"Mum?" 

"Yes?" 

"You're not s'posed to say you hate something." 

Mum chuckled and kissed the top of my head. "When did you become such an expert on what we're not supposed to say?" 

"I dunno. What's a expert?" 

"It's somebody who knows everything about something." 

I lifted my head and looked at her. "I don't know everything, do I?" 

"Well, I guess there might be one or two things you don't know yet." She smiled and I giggled when she nuzzled her nose to mine. 

Suddenly I felt a strong hand tousle my hair and then tug lightly on my ear, but before I had a chance to look, I heard Dad's voice. 

"Well, Benton, just how did you get lucky enough to have a cuddle with the prettiest woman in the world?" he said lightheartedly then kissed Mum sweetly on the lips. His mood seemed to have improved greatly. 

I laughed, even though I knew this family closeness, which I cherished, was going to be broken once again come morning. 

"We've been having a nice talk about all sorts of things. That deserves a good cuddle," Mum answered him for me. 

"Ah, well, I'll remember that," Dad stated. "Meantime, may I steal him from you for a few minutes?" Dad turned to me and rubbed my back lightly. "I got some boxes of food and supplies ready to take to Grandma and Grandpa's tomorrow. Come give me a hand loading them into the truck, eh, Son?" 

"Okay, Dad," I replied, eager to work side-by-side with him. But as we were leaving the room and Dad's hand affectionately caressed my shoulder, Mum called me back. 

"Um, honey, take your bulldozer to your room. We'll fit it into your bag with your other favorite stuff." 

I ran to retrieve the toy, then joined Dad and excitedly showed him the shiny new bulldozer I'd received for my birthday. 

"Well, that's the best bulldozer I ever did see, Son." 

"Wanna play with it with me sometime, Dad?" 

"You bet I do. Soon as I get home." 

* * *

I lay in bed awake all evening. I couldn't sleep, knowing what the next day was going to bring. I reckoned the longer I stayed awake, the longer I'd be at home with Mum and Dad. I heard them go to bed and the cabin became eerily quiet and lonely. A feeling of overwhelming dread came over me and I was afraid to close my eyes. So, I got out of bed, turned on a light and sat down on the floor to play with my bulldozer, complete with every sound effect I could think of. 

Within minutes, Dad entered my room in his pajamas, scooped me up from the floor and dropped me back into my bed. "It's not playtime, Benton," he said as he pulled the blankets over me and guided me into a horizontal position. "No more noise, you hear me? It's late. Go to sleep. You can play tomorrow." He turned to leave, extinguishing the light on his way out. 

"Dad!" I called to him. 

"What is it, Son?" he came back and stood outside my door. 

"I can't go to sleep." 

"Why not?" 

I couldn't admit I was scared, so I had to come up with some other excuse. "I gotta pee." 

Dad sighed. "Well, go on, then. You know where it is." 

Dad waited at my room as I ran to the bathroom. I loitered in there for a while, as indoor plumbing was still a bit of a novelty at our cabin. Dad had capitulated and installed it a few months earlier as a gift for my mum. When I finally came out of the bathroom, I stood with Dad in the hall, as I wasn't ready to get back into my lonely bed. 

"Is there something else, he asked?" noticing my hesitancy. 

"I, um...I need a drink of water." 

"You couldn't have gotten one while you were in the bathroom for all that time?" Dad was losing his patience, I could tell. 

"I forgot." 

"Get into bed, and I'll bring you one," he said, with a hint of annoyance. 

I sat on the edge of my bed until Dad returned with the water. He handed the cup to me and I made the biggest production out of drinking from it as I could, stalling for time. Eventually, he caught on that I had already emptied the cup although I continued to mimic drinking. 

"All right. That'll do, Mister," he said with a stern glare, taking the cup from me. "Under the covers. No more stalling." 

I reluctantly obeyed, and I felt the dread overtaking me again as I lay and watched Dad leave the room. 

"Dad!" I shouted in a panic. 

He came back and stood in the doorway with a hand gripping the door frame. "What now?" he bellowed, at the end of his rope. 

"Um..." I was fresh out of excuses. 

"I want this nonsense to stop right now, Ben! This is obviously some sort of game you're playing, but this is not the time for it! I've got important work to do tomorrow and I need to get a few hours' sleep. I'm going back to bed now, and I don't wanna hear another sound from this room! You hear me?" 

"Yes, Sir." He turned to walk away, but before he was out of sight, I called to him softly, "Dad?" 

"What did I just tell you?" he yelled as he came back into the room. 

"G'night, Dad," I whispered meekly as he stood angrily by my bed. 

His angry glare slowly melted and he put his head in his hands and sighed. "Good night, Ben." He gave a gentle tug to my ear and left the room. 

I was still afraid to close my eyes and the longer I lay there, thinking about it, the worse the fear became. After about ten minutes, I got out of bed, took my new bulldozer into my arms, and crept quietly to Mum and Dad's room. 

I could hear Dad's loud breathing as I entered the room, so I figured he was safely asleep. I went over to stand at Mum's side and watched her peaceful sleep for a minute or so before rubbing my hand along her shoulder, trying to wake her without disturbing her too greatly. 

"Ben? What's the matter, honey?" she asked, sitting up and taking hold of my hand. 

"Can I sleep with you?" I asked, almost breaking into tears. 

"Did you have a nightmare, honey?" She pulled my hand to help me up and, with great relief, I climbed over her, still clutching my bulldozer, and settled in between her and Dad. "It was just a dream, dear. Nothing's gonna hurt you." 

"I didn't have a nightmare, Mum. I was a'scared." 

"Of what?" She took the bulldozer from my arms and placed it on the table beside the bed. 

"I dunno. I just was." 

"Feel better now?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Good. Lie down and close your eyes, honey. There's nothing to be afraid of." 

Mum pulled the blankets over me and, as I nestled in close to her, I accidentally kicked Dad so hard that he woke from his sound sleep. 

"What's he doing here? He's got a bed of his own." 

"He was frightened, dear. I told him he could sleep with us." 

"You're spoiling that boy. He's perfectly safe in his own room. He's never gonna learn that if you keep coddling him every time he sees a shadow." 

I moved closer to Mum and buried my face in her chest. I was afraid Dad was going to make me leave and, as soon as he saw that I was awake, he tried to do just that. 

"Now, Son, I want you to show your mum that you're a big boy who's not afraid to sleep in his own bed in his own room." I didn't move or answer him, so Dad placed his hand on my head and spoke more insistently. "I know you can hear me. Now, don't make me have to carry you back to your room." 

"Please, can I stay, Dad? Please?" I begged in a whimper without moving from Mum's embrace. 

"You're too old for this, Ben." 

"Just this time. I won't ever ask anymore." I was starting to cry, and I'm sure they could hear it in my unsteady voice. 

"Shh, go to sleep, Benny-honey," Mum kissed away my tears. "You can stay." 

"Caroline!" 

"Hush, Robert! I want him here. If you can't live with that, you can sleep elsewhere." 

"I'm your husband, woman!" 

"Yes, when it suits you, you are. Ben is my little boy every day, and if he needs me tonight, I'm gonna be here for him." 

Dad lay back down and was silent for a while. Finally, I heard him draw a quick breath, one such as sometimes accompanies a sob. He then let out a little rant. Not in an angry tone, mind you. He was clearly teasing. "Fine. Fine. Go ahead and spoil him. Make a 'mama's boy' of him. Just don't come runnin' to me in ten years when he doesn't know how to fend for himself." 

Mum reached out her arm to put a finger to Dad's lips. "Hush, dear. My baby's sleeping." 

I felt Dad move closer to us and saw him and Mum meet above me for a passionate kiss. They laid down, entwining their arms around each other and I snuggled in between, in my safe cocoon. And I closed my eyes. 

* * *

I kept my word to Mum. I didn't make a fuss when they left me at my grandparents' house. Our good-byes were quick: a hug and kiss with Mum and a handshake with Dad. And I greeted Grandma and Grandpa in a similar fashion. They were very happy to have me staying with them. They always were, and I knew that. Otherwise, I don't know how I would have survived those days. 

I held Grandma's hand and we stood beside the truck as my parents prepared to drive away. Just before they did, Mum beckoned to Grandma who bent down to offer her ear, and I strained to hear what was being said. 

"Benny's feeling a bit down about all this. I wonder if you and Dad might give him a little extra-special attention. I'm sure that would help, and it would ease my mind about having to leave him again." 

Grandma put her hand on Mum's, which rested on the edge of the rolled-down window, and spoke reassuringly. "Don't fret, Caroline. We'll give him all the love in our hearts. And you know we couldn't love him any more if he were our own." 

"Yes, I do know that," Mum smiled gratefully at her. "I guess I just needed to hear it. I'm being foolish, I know. More so than Ben, I suspect." 

"No, you're being a mother, dear," Grandma smiled in response, then added, as she gripped my hand more firmly in her own, "We'll take good care of this little guy. You take care of the big guy, eh?" 

"I will, Mother. Thank you." 

And they drove off as my grandparents and I watched the truck disappear into the distance. 

Grandma saw me to my room and sat on my bed to keep me company while I unpacked my bag. I was hesitant to let her see the toy bulldozer because I knew how she felt about frivolous toys, so I left it in the bag as I emptied the rest of the contents bit by bit and stored them away properly. But as I was putting some things away in the closet, Grandma apparently decided to give me a hand and looked inside my bag. When I made my way back over to the bed, I was shocked to find Grandma quietly and intently playing with my bulldozer. She appeared fascinated by all the moving parts. 

"That's a mighty fancy machine you have here, Ben," she said as I reached the bed. 

"Mum gave it to me for a surprise." 

"Oh, surprises are nice, aren't they, honey?" 

"Uh huh." Grandma rolled the bulldozer over to me and I took it and rolled it back and forth across the bed as she watched. 

"You can't really enjoy that thing in here," she said, and I thought for a moment she was going to make me put it away. "But I bet your grandfather would just love to help you dig up some dirt to play in." 

I looked up at her and beamed a wide grin. "Can we do that now, Grandma?" 

She smiled back. "Let's go find Grandpa and ask him, eh?" 

* * *

I played with Grandma and Grandpa all that day. We played with the bulldozer. We played games such as 'Hide and Seek' and 'Simon Says'. We sang songs. And when we did read a book, I got to choose it. So I made sure it was a good one, not one of those boring ones that didn't even have any color pictures. 

After supper, Grandma made me take a bath. Once I was scrubbed clean and dressed in my pajamas, she took me onto her lap as she sat in the big chair by the hearth and she and Grandpa told me stories. True stories, mostly. About things that had happened a long time ago, when they were younger. Some of them I remember; some I don't. Although I felt secure in their loving care, I couldn't keep my mind from wandering to thoughts of Mum and Dad and to the fact that I would rather have been at home with them. 

I suddenly thought ahead to the prospect of being put to bed -- alone -- and I felt a twinge of the dread I had experienced the previous night when I had been unable to endure my lonely bedroom at home. My first instinct was to ask Grandma and Grandpa if I could sleep with them, but then I remembered Dad's insistence that I was too old for that sort of thing, so I rejected that idea. I didn't want to disappoint him, even if he was hundreds of miles away -- or perhaps because he was hundreds of miles away. I felt I had to be strong in his absence. 

So, as Grandma cradled me in her arms, I shut my eyes and let my head rest against her, and the voices of my grandparents quickly lulled me to sleep. I didn't even stir when they carried me to my room and tucked me into bed. 

* * *

The next couple days were spent in a nice balance between periods of play and periods of work. I didn't mind the work. In fact, as long as I was spending the time with Grandma and Grandpa, I enjoyed the chores as much as the play. It was only the unshakable fear of finding myself alone that continued to trouble me and kept me in a bit of a funk. Whenever there was a break in activity and my thoughts had an opportunity to turn inward, my sadness would resurface. 

Evenings were always the worst time of day for me. The darkness and the stillness were such a contrast to the relative bustle of the day, and I was consumed by an illusion of impending abandonment as the time for 'good nights' approached. But by the third night, Grandma was resolved that I should fall asleep in my own bed, as opposed to in her arms. 

"There's absolutely nothing for you to worry about, honey," Grandma assured as she pulled the covers over me and tucked the blankets under the mattress. "Grandpa and I will be right in the other room, just like every other night." 

I didn't say anything. I wanted to be brave. But inside I was filled with terror. I knew what Grandma was saying was true. I had gone to sleep in that room countless times before, without the need for anyone to stay with me. I didn't understand why I suddenly found it so frightening to be left alone in there; I only knew that I did. Frightening beyond endurance. 

Grandma turned out the bedside light and left the room. Almost as soon as she'd closed the door, I wriggled out of my blankets and reached over to turn on the light. I'm not sure what gave me away so quickly, but Grandma immediately came back into the room. 

"Lie back down and close your eyes, sweetie," she ordered gently. 

"Can't I leave the light on, Grandma? Just for a little bit?" I asked, still sitting up in bed. 

"Close your eyes and you won't even know it's dark." Grandma struggled to get me to lie down, as I resisted doing so. 

"I can't, Grandma. I tried." 

"You did not try. The minute I was out of the room you sat up and turned the light on. Now, do as I tell you, and lie down and close your eyes." 

Slowly, I laid back and rested my head against the pillow. 

"Close your eyes." 

I hesitated, then closed one eye. 

"Close the other one." 

I reversed them. I figured as long as I could keep Grandma in the room, I wouldn't be alone. 

"Close them both and keep them both closed, smarty-pants!" 

I closed both eyes and a couple seconds later I heard Grandma turn off the light. 

"Sweet dreams, honey." She brushed the hair away from my face and kissed my forehead before leaving the room. 

I tried to obey, I really did. But it was no use. Within a few minutes, I had turned the light back on, fetched my bulldozer from across the room and brought it into bed with me. I was maneuvering it through simulated mounds of dirt I had constructed with my blanket when Grandma re-entered the room, looking none too pleased. She marched over to me and snatched the toy. 

"Lie down," she demanded sternly. 

"That's mine, Grandma," I whined, lowering myself into a reclining position. 

"You may have it back when it's time to play." She turned off the light. "Now, listen to me, Ben. If I have to come back into this room tonight, it'll be to give your behind a sound spank. And I really don't want to have to do that, honey." 

"I don't want you to, either," I cried softly. 

"All right, then. Be a good boy and go to sleep." 

"I don't wanna be naughty, Grandma, but I'm a'scared." I was sobbing by this time. 

"What are you scared of, sweetie?" Grandma asked, as she sat on the bed and put her arm across the blankets that covered me. 

"That somethin' bad is gonna happen." 

"Such as what?" 

"I dunno. I don't want you to leave me." 

"I'm not leaving you. Your grandfather and I are here with you, just as we always are." 

"But you're way in the other room." 

"You're being silly, Ben." 

I didn't have a response to that. I just kept weeping. 

Grandma took a handkerchief from her pocket and used it to wipe my face. "Do you think I would ever let anything hurt you, honey?" 

"Uh-uh," I sobbed. 

"Then there's no reason for those tears. I'm here. I'm not leaving you. And nothing bad is going to happen if you close your eyes. I promise you that." 

"Were you ever a'scared when you were little, Grandma?" 

She paused and caressed my face. "Tell you what, honey. We'll leave your bedroom door open. Then it'll be just like you're in the same room with me and Grandpa. Okay? Shall we try that?" 

"Okay." 

"Here," she said, handing me her handkerchief. "Blow your nose." 

I sat up and complied and when I offered the handkerchief back to her, she put her arms around me and held me close. She kissed my ear as we hugged and then I turned my face to hers and kissed her on the lips, just as I always did with Mum. 

"So, will you go to sleep now, please?" she asked when we were still face-to-face. 

"Okay, Grandma. I'll try real hard to not be a'scared," I vowed. 

"Of course you will, honey. You're a Fraser." 

"Just like Dad?" 

"Just like your dad, sweetheart." 

Well, it wasn't easy, but I did manage to lay there, in the dark. I stared into the outer room and listened to the sounds of Grandma and Grandpa until finally, out of pure exhaustion, my eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

The next afternoon I was outside playing when suddenly I saw it Dad's truck was parked outside the house. My heart skipped a beat and began pumping so wildly that I thought it was going to burst right through my chest. I jumped to my feet and ran to the house, abandoning my prized bulldozer to the pile of dirt surrounding it. 

I sprinted into the house, yelling "Mum! Dad!" until I found everyone gathered around the kitchen table everyone except Mum, that is. Dad was seated at the table and Buck Frobisher stood behind him, with a hand on Dad's shoulder. Grandpa held Grandma in an embrace, but when I entered the room, she lifted her head from his shoulder, quickly brushed a couple fingers across her eyes and cheeks, and intercepted me on my way over to Dad. 

"Ben, please go back outside and play for a while. The grown-ups need to talk." 

"No, Grandma. I don't wanna. I want my mum. Where is she?" I struggled to free myself from my grandmother's grasp. "Dad, where's Mummy?" 

Grandma sighed and picked me up and began to carry me out of the room. I kept struggling and pleading for Mum all the way to my bedroom, where Grandma deposited me onto my bed, then left the room, closing the door behind her. 

"Grandma!" I cried after her, totally confused as to what was going on. I had always been allowed to greet Mum and Dad upon their return home. This didn't make any sense to me. I got off the bed and stood before the closed door and yelled at the top of my lungs. "Dad! Mum!" I repeated my calls a few times, but got no response, so I opened the door, pricked up my ears to try to listen to the hushed conversation in the other room, and then very slowly crept my way to the kitchen. 

Nothing I heard said made the situation any clearer to me. Dad never spoke a word. Buck answered all of Grandma and Grandpa's questions and, as I neared them, I noticed Dad sat very still, staring blankly at the tabletop. He seemed unaware of anything that was going on around him, even when someone asked him a direct question. I heard a few references to a 'she' and wondered if they were talking about Mum. I couldn't understand why she wasn't there. Dad never came home without her. 

"Dad? Is Mum outside?" I asked softly, as I stood at the edge of the room. 

"Honey, go back to your room, please," Grandma directed with a heavy sigh. 

"No, I hafta say hi to Mum first." 

"You have to do as I tell you to, Ben," she replied firmly. 

"No!" I answered with insistence. "You're not my mummy! You can't make me!" 

"Benton, come here," Dad suddenly came to life but spoke very weakly. I didn't realize who had spoken at first. But, then he looked at me and repeated his order. "Come over here, Son." 

"Robert, you don't have to do this right now," Grandma told him as I apprehensively walked over to stand beside Dad. 

"He may as well know now as later." 

"Why don't you let me have a word with the boy, Bob," Buck offered. 

"I'm his father. He'll hear it from me." 

"Hear what, Dad?" I asked. I placed a hand on Dad's knee and he looked up at me, then back down at the table. 

"Your mother's not here." 

"How come? Where'd you put her, Dad?" 

"I...uh...she's gone, Son. She's, uh...she's dead." He never looked at me as he said this. 

I knew what 'dead' meant. I'd seen it happen to the fish we caught from the river and could also relate it to the game Dad and Grandpa brought home from their hunts. I understood enough about the concept to know that it was an end. I wasn't willing to put Mum into that category, however. That was unacceptable to me. 

"Whaddaya mean?" 

"Just what I said." 

"No, Dad," I whispered to him and squeezed his knee, although I felt as if I'd known it before he'd even told me. 

"Yes." 

"No. She's my mum. She's not dead. Where is she really?" 

"I told you. She's dead. Your mum's dead," he repeated with raised voice. 

"Take it easy, Bob," Buck gripped his shoulder. "He's just a young boy. He doesn't understand." 

"He's not a young boy anymore. His mother's gone. He's a man now." 

I was too shocked to say anything. Tears had begun to flow from my eyes and were dripping off my chin because I didn't even have the wherewithal to wipe them away. Suddenly, Grandma came up behind me, took my hand from my father's knee and held it in her hands and turned me to face her. 

"It's going to be okay, honey. We'll help each other get through this." 

"I want my mum, Grandma. I need my mum! Please make Daddy bring her home!" I cried to her. 

"He can't do that, honey. Your mother is " 

I wriggled away from my grandmother and ran over to Dad, grabbing onto his arm, which lay on the table, supporting his head. "Dad, is Mum all by herself? You hafta go get her! You hafta bring her back home!" I yelled, shaking his arm insistently. 

"She's not coming home, Benton!" Dad screamed. "She's never coming home again! What do I have to say to get that through to you?" 

"Please, Dad!" I sobbed, as Grandma pulled me away from him and embraced me from behind. 

"Hush, sweetheart," Grandma whispered into my ear. "Your father cannot bring your mother home." 

"He has to. He took her away. He has to bring her back. You hafta, Dad, or I'm gonna hate you forever!" 

"Shh, shh. That's enough, honey. Let's go to your room, and we'll talk about this," she said, trying to lead me out of the room. 

"No, no!" I replied, pulling away from her again. "Not till Dad goes to get Mum." 

"Now, Benton," Grandpa said, "you have to listen to what we're telling you. Your father can't go to get your mum. Nobody can." 

I hesitated, as I looked from my grandpa to my grandma to my dad and slowly backed away from them all. "You're being mean! I hate you 'cause you're all being mean to me and Mum." 

"Come to me, honey," Grandma said with arms extended. "You know you don't mean that." 

"Yes, I do," I cried. "Mummy promised to come back, but Daddy left her and nobody will bring her home 'cause you're mean." I hadn't noticed Buck moving to stand behind me and suddenly I backed right into him and he crouched and encircled me with his arms. "Let go of me!" I yelled as I struggled to free myself. 

"Whoa, there, little Fraser," he spoke gently while maintaining his hold on me. "Let's you and I go for a little drive, eh?" 

"To get my mummy? Will you take me to get my mummy?" I turned to him, pleading. 

"I'm afraid I can't do that, son. Your mother has gone to a place where none of us can get her." 

"That's a lie! Mummy wouldn't leave me." 

"She didn't want to leave you. She had no choice. She's dead. Do you understand?" 

I refused to hear what he said, preferring to believe that if I refused to accept it, it wouldn't be true. I scrunched my hand into a fist and socked Buck as hard as I could in the groin and he immediately released his grip on me and fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Before anyone else could grab me, I sprinted out of the house and kept running until I found my secret hiding place in the woods. I had found that small cave a few months earlier during one of my visits and always hid there when I wasn't in the mood for Grandma's daily lessons. I was lying on my stomach, sobbing onto the floor of the cave, when I was startled by the sound of another voice. 

"That's it, Son. Get it all out," Grandpa said as he sat down next to me and draped his fingers around my neck and squeezed it tenderly. 

"How'd you know where I was?" I asked without looking at him. 

"Well, I figured you'd be at your secret spot." 

"You know about my secret spot?" I let up a bit on my sobbing and turned my head to look at Grandpa. 

"Sure, sure, but don't worry. Your secret's safe with me," he winked. "I haven't told a soul." 

"Grandma doesn't know?" 

"Nope. At least, I haven't told her." 

Grandpa and I looked at each other silently for a moment, until I remembered why I was there and began to convulse in sobs again. "Oh, Grandpa!" I cried, hiding my face in the crook of my elbow. 

"I know, Son. I know." Grandpa started to rub his hand up and down along the back of my body as I wept bitterly. 

"She can't really be dead, Grandpa. She can't." 

"It doesn't seem real, Ben, I know. It's the worst thing I could ever imagine happening and it hurts so bad you don't know how life can go on." 

"She's not really dead forever, is she, Grandpa?" 

"Yes, Son. She is. I'm sorry." 

With that, I started to wail. My grief was boundless. It was all that was left of me. I couldn't imagine a time when I would ever stop feeling the pain, when the sobs would stop convulsing my body, when life would start again. After a while, I felt Grandpa pry me off the ground and take me into his arms. 

"No, I don't wanna go back, Grandpa," I protested weakly, as I was too physically drained to fight him. 

"I know, I know." He sat up against the wall of the cave and pressed me to him. "Hold me for a while, Ben. I need someone to hold me." 

I wrapped my arms around Grandpa and sunk my face into his chest. Despite my tightly shut eyes, the tears continued to pour from my eyes, and I could feel Grandpa's bulk shaking with his own sorrow. When my body could take no more, it drifted into a deep sleep. 

* * *

It was dark when I awoke hours later. A fire was burning in the hearth a few feet from the sofa, where I lay under a warm blanket. It was only a few seconds before I remembered the events of earlier that day and my being was, once again, overwhelmed with immense sadness. Grandma must have heard me crying because she was at my side almost immediately. 

"It's okay, sweetie. I'm here," she said, stroking my face and touching a kiss upon my forehead. 

"It's not okay, Grandma," I answered with unsteady breath. "Mum's not here." 

"Hush, now. I've got your favorite soup on the stove. Come and have a bowl with me, eh?" 

"I don't want any." 

"I know, but I want you to eat it anyway. You haven't eaten since lunch." 

"No, Grandma, I'm not hungry," I complained as she pulled me to my feet. "I'll throw up if I eat something." 

"I doubt that'll happen, honey." 

I didn't have the strength to resist her, so I let her lead me to the kitchen table. But when she set the bowl of soup before me, I couldn't bring myself to taste it. I slumped back in my chair and watched Grandma sip her soup. 

"Sit up to the table and eat your soup before it gets cold." 

"Where's Dad and Grandpa?" I asked, totally ignoring her instructions. 

"They had to go out for a while. Do as you're told, Ben." 

"To find Mum?" 

Grandma sighed and gave me a sympathetic stare. "No, honey." 

My eyes began to tear, so I hung my head and stared at my lap. 

"Pick up that spoon, please, and take a sip of that soup." 

I shook my head almost imperceptibly while continuing to stare into my lap. 

"Ben, one little sip isn't going to make you sick." 

"Yes it is, Grandma." 

Grandma was silent for a few seconds, then she got up and removed the bowl from the table. "Very well. I'll keep it warm and you can try again later." After a minute or two, she came back to the table and set my toy bulldozer in front of me. "Grandpa found that outside. You left it out there when you were playing." I refused to look at it or to respond. "Ben?" 

"I don't wannit." 

"That's fine, but I want you to put it away in its proper place, please." 

"I don't wanna." 

"Pardon me?" 

"It's just a stupid toy. I don't wannit anymore." 

"You don't have to play with it anymore if you don't want to, but you do have to put it away where it belongs." I sat stubbornly in my chair, so she added, "Now, Ben, please." 

Reluctantly, I stood and picked up the bulldozer. I honestly didn't think I'd ever want to play with it again so, instead of taking it to my room, I went over to the hearth and dropped it into the fire. I watched the flames consume it as tears ran down my face. 

"Why don't you go put your pajamas on, honey," Grandma suggested a few minutes later as she joined me by the hearth. After I had turned to go to my room, she suddenly noticed the toy and called me back. "Benton Fraser! What did you do with that bulldozer?" 

"I put it away, Grandma, like you told me to." 

"You put it away where?" 

"Um, over there," I answered, pointing to the hearth. 

"Into the fire?" 

"Uh huh," I whispered tentatively through my sobs. 

Grandma didn't say anything right away. She took me by the hand and led me to the big chair, where she sat and stood me before her. My silent weeping became an audible cry because I was sure I was going to be punished for what I did to the bulldozer. 

"Come here, honey," she said, taking me onto her lap and holding my head to her chest. "Shh, shh, settle down. It's all right, Ben. Do you want to tell me why you put your toy into the fire?" 

"No," I whimpered. 

"You're angry at your mother for leaving you, aren't you?" 

I didn't answer. My heart was too full of sorrow and confusion to make sense of what I was feeling. 

"That's why you destroyed her gift to you." 

"Mum says you shouldn't get mad 'cause you do stuff you wished you didn't do." 

"Do you wish you hadn't ruined the bulldozer?" 

"I couldn't play with it anymore, Grandma." 

"No, you certainly can't now. You've burned it up." 

"I'm sorry, Grandma," I cried, and she immediately hugged me so close to her I thought we would become one person. 

"So am I, sweetie. I'm sorry it hurts so much. I wish I could make it all better." Grandma comforted me with her embrace until I had cried myself to sleep again. It was well into the night when Grandpa carried me into bed with him and Grandma and the three of us held each other and slept fitfully until morning. 

* * *

I was lucky to have survived most of the night without nightmares. I imagine that was due to the fact that my sleep was so fragmented. But when I awoke with a start that last time, it was past daybreak and I found myself alone in bed, trembling with the after-effects of a very disturbing dream about Mum. I frantically hustled out of bed and hurried to the kitchen, where I always knew I could find Grandma first thing in the morning. 

It was eerily silent in the room. Everything looked the same as usual. Grandma was at the stove fixing breakfast. Dad was at the table. But the normal sounds were not there. No cheery greeting from my grandmother. No enthusiastic munching noises coming from Dad. In fact, Dad just sat there, still as a corpse, staring down at the table, where his breakfast plate lay, untouched. And, although I could see Grandma's motions, I couldn't hear them. It was as if the volume was turned off. 

*Is this what it's gonna be like forever now?* I wondered to myself. It felt as if none of us were really there. As if I were still dreaming. As if I could blink and all this would disappear, including myself. My heart ached with fear and loneliness, and I desperately needed to hear some noise, even if it was only my own voice. *I can tell Dad about my dream,* I decided, but was hesitant to do so. Dad was easy to talk to sometimes, but there were other times when anything I said would seem to drive him into a bad humor. So, I walked over to him and stood silently, trying to gauge his mood. He either ignored me or was unaware of my presence, because he failed to acknowledge me. 

"Hi Dad." 

He grunted and continued to stare at his plate of food. 

"Dad?" 

He didn't respond. 

"Good morning, honey," Grandma spoke solemnly from across the room where she was occupied at the stove. "Sit down. Your breakfast will be ready in a minute." 

"Dad?" I said again, ignoring my grandmother. When he didn't immediately respond, I placed my hand on his thigh. 

"Whaddaya want?" he barked, not moving an inch. 

"Um, nothin'." 

"Hmm." 

"Whatcha eatin', Dad?" I figured this was a safe topic. I just wanted to be with him, to talk with him. I didn't care what we talked about. 

"What does it look like?" 

"Um, eggs." 

"Well, then, I guess it's eggs." 

"And bacon." 

"Uh huh." 

"And, um, coffee." 

"That's enough, Son," he snapped impatiently. "Be quiet for a while, would ya?" 

"I hafta tell you somethin', Dad." 

"Not now." 

"But you don't even know what it is." 

"I don't want to know." 

"How come?" 

"Because I don't feel like listening to you right now, okay?" 

"When will you feel like it, Dad?" 

"I don't know. I don't know. I just want you to be quiet and leave me alone," he said with a decidedly raised voice. "I want you to be so quiet that I won't even know you're here. Would you do that for me, please?" He gave me an angry glare, so I quickly removed my hand from his thigh and backed away. 

"'Kay, Dad. I'll be quiet. I won't 'sturb you." I wiped a tear from my cheek, and Dad scowled and turned his stare back to the table. 

"Sit down, honey, and I'll fix you a plate," Grandma interrupted. 

"I don't want any, Grandma," I said, still watching Dad. 

"You have to eat something, Ben. Would you rather have oatmeal?" 

"I don't want anything." 

"Don't tell me you're still not hungry?" 

"Uh huh." 

Grandma came and took me by the hand and led me to a chair. "Hop up, honey." 

"But, Grandma, I said I don't wanna eat." 

"Put your fanny onto that chair," she ordered with a gentle pat. 

I complied, but not without a scowl, and Grandma went to prepare my plate. "Just 'cause I'm sittin' here doesn't mean you can make me eat." 

"Don't sass your grandmother, Son!" Dad interjected sternly. Despite his tone of voice, I was glad to have him talking to me. 

"But, Dad, you're not eatin'. Why should I hafta?" I asked, trying to engage him in conversation. It didn't work. 

"Your father's an adult," Grandma said, as she placed my plate before me. "He can take care of himself." 

"So can I," I answered, pushing the plate away. 

"No, you are a child, and we adults are responsible for taking care of you. And right now, I need to make sure that you eat your breakfast," she said, pushing the plate back in front of me. 

I pouted and pushed the plate away so far that it knocked against Dad's plate. 

Grandma tugged on my ear and turned my head so I had to look at her. "You're not leaving this table until you try to eat something. And, believe me, it'll taste a whole lot better while it's still hot than it will cold." With that, she sat down beside me and began to eat her own breakfast while I sat back in my chair with my arms crossed stubbornly and watched her and Dad. "Please sit up to the table like a gentleman," Grandma directed as she ate. 

"I don't feel like it." 

"Go to your room, Son," Dad suddenly commanded, never even glancing in my direction. 

I turned my attention to him, but didn't move from my chair. I was banking that his order wasn't an order, but a warning. 

"Did you hear me, Ben?" 

Or maybe it was an order. "I don't wanna go to my room," I whined. 

"And I told you I didn't want to hear another sound from you, didn't I?" he shouted. "So why am I still hearing your voice?" 

"I was talkin' to Grandma, Dad, 'cause she talked to me." 

"I heard what you were doing. You were being fresh with your grandmother. I'm warning you, Son, I'm not gonna put up with disobedience just because uh, er..." he suddenly stopped, unable to finish his thought. 

"Honey, why are you being so stubborn about this?" Grandma asked. 

"How come you are?" I shot back with deliberate attitude. 

"All right, that's it!" Dad exclaimed as he made a move to get up from his seat, only to be stopped by Grandma. 

"No, Robert, don't. Please, sit down," she said, gripping his arm which supported his body as he leaned on the table. 

"He's asking for it, Mother!" 

"I know, I know he is. But he's, uh...I think we need to be a little extra patient with him right now. I think we all need to show extra patience with each other." 

My heart rate slowed back down as Dad sighed and took his seat. I watched him lean forward, placing his elbows on the table and hiding his face in his hands. I'm not sure if I had subconsciously tried to get a reaction out of him by angering him, but part of me wished Grandma had let him chastise me. 

"Ben, why are you refusing to eat?" Grandma turned back to me to ask. 

"'Cause I don't feel good." 

"I know, honey. None of us feel good, but we still have to eat." 

"Dad's not." 

"He will." 

"Then I will when he does." 

Grandma pushed my plate to me. "I want you to at least try to eat it now, do you understand?" 

"If you make me eat, I'm gonna throw it up all over the table." 

"No you won't." 

"Yes I will. Aaallllll over the table," I stressed, trying to put her off the idea of making me eat. 

Grandma leaned in and cupped my chin in her hand. "Listen to me carefully, Ben," she began her lecture. "When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it. And when I ask you a question, I expect a respectful answer, not a fresh one." 

"I know," I whispered. 

"Yes, I know you know. That's why if this unnecessary naughty behavior doesn't stop right now, I am going to have to punish you. Is that what you want?" 

I shook my head and frowned. 

"What do you want, honey?" Grandma asked after a pause. 

I hung my head and didn't answer right away. I understood by that time that I couldn't have what it was that I really wanted, but Grandma had asked, so I felt I had to answer. "Mum. I want Mum." 

Upon hearing my answer, Dad got up angrily and left the house. Grandma watched him and sighed, but didn't try to stop him. 

"Do you understand that's impossible, honey?" 

"Uh huh. I know. Everybody told me that already." 

"Then why did you say that?" 

"'Cause you asked what I wanted and that's what I want." 

"What do you want that isn't impossible?" 

"Um...I want you to leave me alone," I answered after a pause, imitating my father. 

"Oh, I see. You want to be left alone?" 

"Uh huh. I don't even wanna know you're here," I continued to mimic my dad. 

"Very well, honey." She took my plate of food and placed it on the shelf, then came back over to me and pulled my chair away from the table. "Go to your room and stay there," she said, without the tone of irritation that I expected to accompany a rebuke. 

"Huh?" 

"You'll be all alone in your room. No one will bother you there. Go on. I promise you'll be completely alone all day. You won't know anyone else is here." 

"But, Grandma..." 

"'But, Grandma' what?" 

I had begun to weep and wasn't sure what to say to her. "Don't punish me, Grandma, please." 

"I'm not punishing you. I'm giving you what you want. I'm letting you be alone." 

I hung my head and fidgeted with my fingers as they lay in my lap. "I don't wanna be by myself, Grandma. I wanna be in here with you." 

"Even if that means obeying me?" 

I nodded, still looking down and crying. 

Grandma brought my plate back to the table and pushed my chair forward. I didn't say anything as she arranged my napkin on my lap, wrapped my right hand around a fork, and sat down next to me. "Get busy, sweetheart. It's getting cold," she advised, then resumed eating her eggs and bacon. 

I put a small forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth and looked at my grandmother. She smiled and I smiled in return, then took another, larger, bite of the eggs, followed by a big piece of bacon. 

"Thank you, honey," she winked at me. 

"You're welcome, Grandma." We ate in silence for a while, and then I remembered I still had that bad dream I wanted to get off my chest. "I wanted to tell Dad my dream." 

"Did you have a dream last night?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Would you like to tell it to me since your father isn't here right now?" 

"It was scary." 

"In that case, I think you'd better tell me all about it. Once you tell it, it's not scary anymore." 

"It's not?" 

"No, because it becomes a story, and stories are just make-believe." 

"Oh. 'Kay, I guess I can tell you, then. It was 'bout Mum." 

"I figured as much." 

"She was calling me, and I kept runnin' and runnin', but I couldn't get to her." 

"That sounds awful, honey." She reached out her hand and placed it on top of mine. 

"It was, Grandma. She wanted me to come to her, but I couldn't even when I tried real, real hard. And now she thinks I left her all alone and I don't care about her and " 

"Hush, Ben, hush," Grandma said, putting her finger to my lips. "It was a bad dream. You know what a dream is. It's not real." 

"Why can't this be the dream instead and I could wake up and Mum would be here?" 

"I guess because that's not meant to be, honey." 

"Maybe it is, Grandma," I suggested hopefully. "Maybe we'll all wake up and Mum won't really be dead." 

"Bad things happen sometimes, honey. It's hard, but we have to accept it." 

"I can't, Grandma." I had again begun to weep. 

"Sometimes I don't think I can, either, Ben. But eventually it gets easier." 

"It's not ever gonna get easier." 

"Perhaps not. But I am still here for you, and so is your grandpa and your daddy." 

"But I need Mum," I wept. 

"I know you do, sweetie. I need her, too." 

"How come you need my mummy?" 

"Because I love her, just as you do. Just as I need you because I love you." 

"I love you too, Grandma." I hung my head and tears began to pour down my face and onto my lap. 

"What's the matter now, sweetie?" 

"I wish...I wish my daddy needed me." 

"Oh, Ben." Grandma ran her fingers through my hair, then brushed tears off my face. "Of course your father needs you, honey, and loves you very much. He's just...very upset. That's why he's acting the way he is." 

"I know, Grandma. He's upset 'cause of me. He's mad at me and hates me." 

"No, honey. No, no," she said, pulling her chair next to mine and holding me to her. "He's mad at the world, honey, not at you." 

"He didn't wanna know I'm here. That's what he said." 

"I know he did, and he shouldn't have. I'm sure he'll realize that soon enough." 

"He won't 'cause it was my fault." 

"What was your fault?" 

"That he's mad at me." 

"I told you, honey, he's not mad at you." 

"I told him if he didn't bring Mummy home, I was gonna hate him forever." 

"Yes, I know. But he knows you didn't mean it. He knows you only said that because you were frightened and angry. He's frightened and angry, as well. We all are." 

"I don't wanna be angry, Grandma." 

"I know, sweetheart. Help me clean up and we'll talk about it, eh?" she smiled sweetly at me. 

I hopped off my chair and followed her over to the sink, carrying my plate. 

"Bring me your father's plate, please," Grandma requested as she took my plate from me. "It doesn't look like he's going to be eating." 

I went to get the plate, and, as I was crossing the room with it, drinking the last of my juice on the way, I bumped into Dad, who suddenly reappeared. 

"Watch where you're going, Benton!" he said with quiet irritation. 

"Sorry, Sir. I didn't drop anything." 

"No. Good." 

"Grandma wanted me to bring her your plate 'cause you aren't gonna eat it." 

"No...I normally don't eat plates." He kept a straight face for a few seconds, then winked and let a small smile creep over his face. I laughed and he tousled my hair briefly. "Helping your grandmother with the dishes, Son?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Good man. You know, you're not a little boy anymore. There's probably lots of things you could do around the house." 

"I know. Grandma and Grandpa let me do, um, chores, sometimes. And Grandpa teaches me about the chickens and how to feed 'em and stuff." 

"Does he now? Well, that's good. I'm glad to hear that because, er, your grandparents are gonna need you to help out around here for a while." 

I just looked at Dad, wondering what exactly he meant by that, and Grandma came over and took the dirty dishes from me. She and Dad exchanged glances, then Dad turned away nervously and took the dishes from Grandma and placed them in the soapy water. 

"What's going on, Robert?" Grandma asked him, as her fingers gently pressed my head to her body and tried to cover my ears. 

"Just lending a hand, Mother," he replied while he began to scrub a plate. 

"That's not what I meant and you know that." She paused, probably waiting for him to say something, but he didn't. "You're leaving, aren't you?" 

"Buck'll be here in a few hours," Dad stated. 

"A few hours?" 

"Give or take." 

"But Caroline's funeral is tomorrow." Grandma sighed when Dad didn't respond. She then stood me before her and said, "Ben, do me a favor and go out to the shed and fetch me a sack of oats. I need to make some bannock." 

"Yuck!" I replied with a look of disgust. 

"Never mind the commentary. Just do as I ask, please." 

"Where is it?" I knew the answer to that. I just didn't want to leave the room when Dad was talking about going away. 

"In the shed. Grandpa's out there with the chickens. He'll show you." When I failed to make a move, Grandma turned me toward the door and swatted my behind. "Go on, honey. Scoot!" 

But I only pretended to leave. Once in the mud room, just off the kitchen, I pushed open the door then let it slam shut, while I remained in the room, hidden in a corner, and listened to the conversation in the kitchen. 

"Don't act as if you didn't hear me," Grandma scolded Dad. 

"Er, you need to make some bannock. Yeah, I heard." 

"Don't be impertinent, Robert!" 

*Wow! She talks to my dad the same way she talks to me!* 

"What do you want, Mother?" Dad asked irritably. 

"The funeral is tomorrow morning." 

"So you said." 

"You're not seriously considering leaving before then, are you?" 

"It's not my funeral. You don't need me here." 

"Yes, we do need you here. Caroline needs you. And your son needs you, most of all." 

"I know what my son needs, but, unfortunately, he can't have her, can he?" 

"He needs his father just as much as he needs his mother. He always has. And he needs you more than ever right now. You can't abandon him on the day of his mother's funeral. I won't allow it." 

"Ben'll be fine. He's got you and Dad. I'd only end up doing something to upset him, anyway. I'm no good for him these days." 

"Rubbish! Do you have any idea how upset he's going to be when he sees you walk out that door? No, of course you don't. You're never here to see that part of it. You just walk away, leaving the rest of us to try to help him deal with the rejection and loneliness that are breaking his heart. And I really don't think he can take that right now, Son." 

"All right, Mother. I think you've said enough." 

I peeked around the corner and saw Dad standing over the sink with his back to Grandma, his head bowed despairingly. 

"Are you going to stay for a while, then?" 

Dad shook his bowed head. "Ben's not my only concern at the moment." 

"He should be." 

"Look, Mother. I need to do this for him as much as for anyone else. The boy'll be disappointed, perhaps, but he'll survive. He'll get over it. Meanwhile, that bastard son of a bitch Muldoon is still out there somewhere, and I have to find him before he " 

I'd been hearing Dad complain about Muldoon for months. It was the only case he ever talked about, and he didn't talk about it in the same manner in which he used to speak of his adventures. It wasn't a challenge he looked upon with pride. It was a frustration, which seemed to fill Dad with anger and hate -- which I now realize was probably directed mostly at himself. He was always in a bad mood when he came home, and it always seemed to have something to do with Muldoon. 

Dad paused, took a deep breath, then turned around as he finished his thought. "There's no telling how many more innocent lives he'll destroy " At that moment, Dad saw me eavesdropping from the mud room. We stared at each other for several seconds, motionless. 

"Robert, what's the matter?" Grandma asked curiously. 

"How long've you been standing there, Son?" Dad finally spoke. 

I was reluctant to answer, so I guiltily entered the kitchen with my head bowed and my hands clasped in front of me. 

"Benton," Grandma said upon seeing me. "Where are those oats I sent you for?" When I only shrugged in response, she raised her eyebrows at me and asked, "Did I not give you a job to do?" 

"Yes, Ma'am." 

"Did you do it?" 

I shook my head slowly, looking at the floor. 

"Why not?" she demanded. 

I shuffled my feet, desperate to come up with an excuse. "I can't reach it." 

"I'm sure your grandfather would've helped you if you'd asked him." 

"It's too heavy for me to carry." 

Grandma came over and lifted my chin, then squeezed it between her thumb and fingers. "Did you even go out to the shed?" 

I answered with one slight shake of my head. 

"You've been hiding in there, listening to us, the whole time?" 

I nodded. 

"I thought we had an agreement?" 

"What 'greement, Grandma?" I asked as best as I could, considering her grip around my mouth. 

She loosened her fingers from my face then ran them through my hair to push it back. "The agreement that you would do as I asked you to do." 

"Oh, that 'greement." 

"Yes, that agreement. What happened to it?" 

"Nothin'." I wasn't going to say any more, but I could tell that she wanted me to elucidate. "I will, Grandma." 

"You didn't." 

"I know, but I will." 

"Doing as I ask means doing it when I ask, honey. Not when you feel like doing it." 

"You didn't say it was a 'mergency." 

Grandma glared at me and tugged my ear. "You're equivocating, Ben." 

"Huh?" 

"You know very well that I wanted you to fetch the oats when I sent you for them." 

She had me and I knew it. I didn't know what to say, so I swallowed anxiously as I hung my head. "I'm sorry, Grandma." I didn't get a response from her, so I lifted my face, catching Dad's disapproving stare as I did so, and asked meekly, "Are you mad?" 

"I'm displeased. I would like to know why you disobeyed me, honey." 

"And so would I," Dad added sternly. 

"I wanted to hear what you were talking about." 

"It's not nice to listen in on other people's private conversations. Don't you know that?" 

"I didn't know you were talkin' about private stuff." 

"You're equivocating again!" Grandma snapped. Her tone was uncharacteristically impatient and it frightened me. 

"I'm not, Grandma. I never heard of it!" 

She crouched and gripped my upper arms firmly as she explained. "That means you're not being honest with me. And if you're not going to be honest with me, you may as well go to your room." As I stared at her, she reached out and rubbed away the tears that were falling down my cheeks. 

"Do I really hafta go to my room?" 

"No, I've given you a choice. Be honest with me or go to your room. You have to do one or the other." 

"But I did be honest!" I cried in a loud protest. I was then overcome with a convulsive sob, and Grandma pulled me to her and embraced me snugly. 

"Okay, honey. It's all right. Settle down." 

But I couldn't. My emotions were running high and needed an outlet. I still had tears to shed for Mum, and Dad's attitude toward me that morning, along with the news that he would be leaving, doubled my sorrow. I was inconsolable. 

"Hush now, Ben," she whispered into my ear then kissed it tenderly. "I'm sorry I upset you, sweetheart. I was wrong to do that. I guess we're all a little on edge today. Will you forgive me, honey?" 

I nodded my head against her shoulder, where my sobbing face was buried. Grandma kissed the top of my head and hugged me tightly. 

"Okay, then, calm yourself down. You're all worked up. Do you think you can stop crying now?" 

"I dunno." 

"Well, give it a try, eh?" 

When I noticed the soothing caress of her hands along my back, I managed to bring myself under control. I was emotionally and physically drained, however, so I continued to lean against her and slipped my arms around her to let her know I still needed her comforting embrace. 

"That's much better, honey." Grandma lifted me into her arms, then stood and went to take a seat at the table, caressing me all the while. "Robert! Where do you think you're going?" she suddenly yelled, and I sat up with a start upon hearing her words. Grandma gently pulled me back to lie against her. 

"Just out for some air. I'll be back." 

"We haven't finished our talk." 

"Yes we have, Mother. I'm sorry if you don't approve of my decision, but it is my decision to make. And I happen to believe it's the right one, the only one. Maybe some day you'll understand." 

"Dad?" 

"Hush, honey," Grandma silenced me. "Let your father and me speak, eh?" 

"There's nothing else to say, Mother. So, if you'll excuse me..." 

"No, I will not excuse you. I understand you're hurting, Son, as are all of us. But running away isn't going to solve anything." 

"I'm not running away. I happen to be needed elsewhere right now, that's all." 

"And what about Ben? He could use a little of this from you, you know," she told him, referring to our cuddle. 

"You're doing just fine with him. Besides, the woman is supposed to be the comforter, not the man." 

"Hogwash! You could at least talk to him. There's no rule against a father and son talking, is there?" 

"Whaddaya mean? I talk to him plenty of times." 

"Oh really? He had something important to tell you this morning, and you sent him away without the slightest concern for his feelings." 

"Oh God! Feelings." 

"Yes, Bob, feelings. He has them, you know. We all have them. Even you, although you'd die before admitting it." 

I stirred at the suggestion of Dad dying and Grandma tightened her hold on me. 

"I'm going for a walk," Dad stated and started to walk away. 

"Wait! Take Ben with you. The fresh air would do him good." Grandma coaxed me off her lap and stood up, then took my hand and led me across the room to Dad. 

"Would you like to walk with me, Son?" he asked very sincerely. 

"Uh huh," I said, wiping the last traces of tears from my face. 

"Fine. I'd, er, I'd be glad for your company. We'll, uh, stop at the shed on our way back and pick up those oats for your grandmother, eh?" 

"Okay, Dad." I looked up at Grandma, who still held my hand. "Can you wait for 'em that long, Grandma?" 

"Oh, I think so, dear," she answered with a smile. "I'll find something to keep me busy till you get back. Take your time." 

"Thanks, Grandma." I threw my arms around her and she crouched down to return the hug. "Grandma?" I said soberly. 

"What is it, honey?" 

"I, um, was a'scared to go to the shed before." 

"Why was that? You've never been afraid of the shed before." 

"I was a'scared Dad would be gone when I got back." 

Grandma kissed me, then glared at Dad who stood behind me. "Did you hear that?" she asked him. 

"I heard." 

"Well?" 

"Well, what? He says things like that all the time." 

"Doesn't that tell you something?" 

"Sure it does. It tells me he's a child and children say those kinds of things. It's normal. He'll grow out of it." 

"There's nothing normal about a six-year-old losing his mother. He's apparently afraid he's going to lose his father, as well. If you can't see that and understand that he needs at least a word or two from you to assure him that's not going to happen -- " 

"For Chrissakes, Mother! Would you please shut up! Do you think you can do that? Can you just shut your mouth and leave me alone for even five minutes? For five fucking-- for five minutes!" Dad's eyes were blazing with anger and frustration. In the silence that followed his outburst, he sighed and scratched his brow nervously, then trudged over to sit at the table. 

"Ben, perhaps you and I should go get that sack of oats now, eh?" Grandma suggested, leaving Dad to compose himself. 

"Just a minute, Grandma," I replied. I let go of her hand and walked quietly to my father's side. "Dad?" I whispered. 

"Honey, I think it's best if we leave your father alone for a while. Come with me, please," Grandma urged with her hand out to me. 

I started to walk back toward my grandmother, but Dad grabbed the back of my shirt to stop me. I turned to look at him and saw him wave me back to him without ever looking up at me. 

"Do you have something to say to me?" he asked calmly. 

"Yes, Sir. If it's okay." 

"What is it?" 

I clasped my hands behind my back and took a couple steps toward him, then stood there, shuffling my feet. I knew there was a chance that what I was going to say would make him angry, but I felt compelled to say it, anyway. 

"Go ahead, Son. I'm listening." 

"Um, Dad...?" 

"Yes?" He finally looked at me. 

"Um, we're not s'posed to say bad words or be mean to special ladies." 

Dad was expressionless for several seconds, and my heart raced as I waited for some kind of reaction. Finally, the sides of his mouth turned up and a twinkle came to his tired eyes. "You're right, Son. I, uh, behaved very badly, didn't I?" 

I nodded uncomfortably. It was a strange feeling to be reprimanding my father. 

Grandma came to stand behind me and softly stroked my head. "Out of the mouths of babes, eh?" 

"Er, actually, Mother," Dad cleared his throat, then explained, as we looked each other in the eyes, "...actually, he's reminding me of something I said to him once." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah, Grandma, 'cause I yelled a bad word at Mum." 

"No! Not you, sweetheart. I don't believe it." 

"I did. But I can't tell it to you, 'cause then Dad would hafta spank me with a spare rod." I smiled to see my dad chuckle. I wasn't sure what was so funny, but that didn't matter. It had been so long since I'd seen him laugh. 

"Well, something like that, Son," he said with a grin and a wink. 

"Are you perhaps referring to 'spare the rod, spoil the child'?" Grandma asked. 

"Uh huh. You know that, too, Grandma?" 

"Certainly she knows it!" Dad exclaimed. "Where'd you think I learned it?" 

Grandma leaned down and spoke into my ear, but loud enough so Dad could hear. "Looks like your grandfather and I spoiled your daddy a little too much, eh, Ben? Lucky for me you were here to give him a good spanking just now!" she teased. 

"I didn't do that, Grandma!" I laughed aloud at the mental picture. 

Dad lassoed me with one arm and pulled me close to him. "I consider myself well and truly spanked, okay?" he smirked. 

"How can you do that?" 

"Oh, it's a little trick you learn when you're a dad." 

"Can I try it when I do something bad?" 

"Er, sure when you're a dad." 

"But that's too far away," I complained. 

"Well, I guess you'll just have to be a good boy until then, eh?" 

"'Kay, Dad," I reluctantly agreed, unsatisfied with his answer. "But, Dad?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I didn't hear you 'pologize to Grandma yet." 

"Oh dear! You don't give a guy a break, do you?" 

"Nope!" I giggled. 

"Well, all right. Mother, I'm, er, sincerely sorry for my behavior earlier. How's that, Son?" 

"You hafta promise you're never gonna do it again." 

"Never?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Hmm, how 'bout if I promise I'll try never to do it again?" 

I was uncertain about this, so I glanced at Grandma, who agreed with a slow nod. "Okay, Dad. But you gotta promise to try real, real hard." 

* * *

"Can we walk in the woods, Dad?" I asked, as we strolled hand-in-hand out of the house. 

"I suppose that's as good a place as any," he agreed. 

I was filled with excitement at this opportunity to share with my dad, and I immediately began to run ahead, pulling him behind me. 

"Whoa, there, Son! What's the hurry? The woods ain't goin' anywhere," he said, trying to slow me down. 

"I hafta show you somethin'," I replied, as I grabbed his arm with both hands and tried to force him to move faster. 

"Oh, well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" he teased and then sprinted ahead of me to the edge of the woods, where he collapsed to the ground in mock exhaustion. 

When I caught up to him, I stood at his head and looked down at him. "Whatcha doin' down there, Dad?" I asked as we looked at each other upside down. 

"Catchin' my breath, Son. Catchin' my..." he breathed deeply, "...breath." He continued to breathe while I squirmed anxiously, impatient to get a move on. 

I watched him for several seconds, then bent down and inquired in his face, "Didn't you catch it yet?" 

"Patience, Ben, patience! You think it's easy keeping up with a six-year-old? You just wait till you're an old man, like me. See how short o'breath you are!" 

"I'm not ever gonna be short o'breath," I boasted proudly as I stood back up. "I got lots." 

"Good for you, Son," Dad panted. 

"I can hold my breath real long, Dad. Wanna see how long?" I didn't wait for his answer. I just inhaled as deeply as I could, then clamped my mouth shut and held my breath. I could feel my face turning color after a minute or so, but I was determined not to breathe until absolutely necessary. Dad began to show a little concern and he propped himself up on an elbow and reached his hand up and grasped my nose. I instinctively panicked to have this potential airway cut off and immediately opened my mouth and gasped for air. Dad, relieved, let go of my nose and lay back down on the ground. "No fair, Dad! You cheated! I coulda held it longer!" 

"Show off!" he exclaimed, then snuck his arms above his head and around the back of my legs. Before I knew what was happening, he pulled me face down on top of him and then, after a loud slap to my behind to keep me down, he sat up and began to tickle me all over. 

I curled my body into a ball and rolled back and forth trying to escape his torture, but he was relentless. "No, Dad! Stop it!" I screamed, giggling and crying at the same time. "I can't breathe!" I protested as I tried to push away the fingers that were roaming my body quicker than I could catch them. 

"Can't breathe? Why, you don't need to breathe, Son. You can hold your breath forever!" 

"Not when you're..." I could barely get the words out between my squeals, "...tickling me! Stop, Dad! I'm gonna tickle you, too!" I threatened. 

Dad stopped tickling me, looked at me very soberly, and said, "Sorry, Ben. I'm afraid you can't tickle me." 

"Why?" I asked, holding his fingers in my hands to keep them out of mischief. "'Cause I'm not a dad?" 

"No, no." 

"Then how come?" 

"It's just not possible." 

He was daring me to try. That was clear by the expression on his face and by the way he had totally surrendered his body to me. I couldn't help fearing it was a trick, however. As soon as I let go of his hands so that I could tickle him, he was liable to remount an attack on me. 

"But how come it's not poss'ble?" 

"Go ahead and try. You'll see." 

"No. You'll tickle me again if I do." 

"No, I won't." 

"You'll hold me down or something." 

"No, I won't touch you. Scout's honor. Go on. See if you can tickle me." But I just kept eyeing him doubtfully, unsure whether I should accept the challenge. "What's the matter, Son? Don't you trust me?" 

"Uh-uh," I shook my head emphatically. 

"Well, you're cautious. That's good. But there's such a thing as being too cautious, you know. You'll never make a good Mountie if you don't learn to take a chance once in a while." 

"A Mountie?" I cocked my head at him inquisitively. "Are I gonna be a Mountie, Dad?" This was the first time my father had suggested that possibility. 

"Beats me, Son. Are ya?" 

"Would I get to go away all the time, like you?" 

"Possibly." 

"When?" 

"When what?" 

"When can I be a Mountie like you?" 

"Oh, well, there's training you have to complete first." He studied the intent, hopeful expression on my face, then smiled. "Lots of training. Years." 

"How much years?" 

"Ah, well, let's see. How old're you now?" 

"Six." 

"Six. Okay. Hmm, no, there are no six-year-old Mounties, I'm sure." 

"How 'bout seven-year-olds?" 

Dad chuckled, but stopped himself when he saw that I was serious. "No, no seven-year- olds, either, I'm afraid." 

"How old then?" 

"Um, well," Dad cleared his throat before answering. "I believe we might have some nineteen, twenty-year-olds fresh from the Academy." 

"What's the 'cademy?" 

"That's the school where you go to learn how to be a Mountie." 

"Can I go, Dad? Can I?" 

"In due time, Ben. In due time. First things first." 

"Whaddaya mean? What first things?" 

"Well, first before anything else, you have to perform a dangerous task." 

"What taks?" 

"You're not scared?" 

"Uh-uh. What is it?" 

He liberated his hands from mine, then stretched his arms out to either side of him. "Come on, Son. Try and tickle me." 

Well, I tried...and tried...and tried. I poked my fingers in all the most likely sensitive spots, but didn't get a single reaction out of Dad. He simply wasn't ticklish. *Darn! Life is so unfair!* 

* * *

"Hurry up, Dad! This is it," I called back to him as he lagged behind me through the woods. 

"A cave?" he said, upon catching up and looking inside. 

"Uh huh." I leaned in toward him and explained in a whisper, "It's my secret hiding place, so you can't tell anybody 'bout it." 

Dad mimicked locking his lips and throwing away the key as he winked conspiratorially. 

"'Cept Grandpa. You can tell him, 'cause he knows already." 

"Who doesn't know, then?" 

"Grandma and Mu--" I cut myself off. "Just Grandma, I guess." 

"Ah, understood," he replied with a smirk. "I had a hiding place from Grandma when I was a boy, too." 

I grinned to discover that we shared something special. "Wanna come in and see, Dad?" 

"I thought you'd never ask." 

* * *

"Nice cave, Son," Dad remarked a while later, as we lay beside each other on the dirt floor. "Much better than my hiding place was." 

"What was yours, Dad?" 

"Oh, I'd found an old tree down by the river that'd been struck by lightning. It was dead, but still standing, sort of. Anyway, about half way up, there was a spot in the trunk that'd been hollowed out. So, I'd climb up and squeeze myself into the hollow." 

"Cool!" 

"Not really. The tree wasn't very stable and one day, as I was enjoying my sanctuary, it crumbled beneath me and I fell the long distance to the ground and broke my arm. Boy, did I get a good bawling out for that one." 

"Grandma was mad at ya?" 

"Well, sure. I'd been putting myself in a very dangerous situation. I could've been hurt much worse than I was. She wanted to make sure I wouldn't ever do it again." 

"Oh. Did it hurt?" 

"The broken arm? Oh, you bet it hurt! More than anything I'd ever felt before. Although, there was a bright side to it." 

"What was that?" 

"Well, since it was my dominant arm I broke, I was excused from writing any lessons or doing most of my chores until it healed." 

"Wow. You sure were lucky, Dad." 

"Yeah, well, don't you get any ideas about doing something stupid like that just to get out of doing something you don't wanna do, eh?" 

"Okay, Dad. I won't." I thought for a moment, then asked, "My cave isn't dang'rous, is it, Dad?" 

Dad paused and sighed peacefully, then answered, "It's perfect, Son. Perfect." 

I couldn't help smiling at Dad's envy of my secret place. "You can come here anytime you wanna, Dad. It can be both our secret spots." 

"Why, thank you kindly, Son. That's very generous of you. I'll keep it in mind whenever I need to hide." 

"Dad?" 

"Hmm?" 

I lifted my face to look at him and saw that his eyes were closed. "Can I ask you somethin'?" 

"I suppose so." 

"You won't get mad?" He looked so peaceful, the last thing I wanted to do was upset him. But I needed an answer. 

"Nope." 

"Are ya sure?" 

"You're not gonna try to make me mad, are ya?" 

"Uh-uh." 

"Then I won't get mad." 

"Okay." But I was still hesitant and had trouble getting the words out. 

"That wasn't the question, was it?" he asked after my silence. 

"No. It was, um...it was, what happened to Mum?" 

There was a moment of absolute silence, as Dad and I didn't even breathe. 

"Whaddaya mean, Son? I thought we'd been over that already." 

"No, I know she's dead, Dad, but I mean how? She wasn't very old. Not even as old as Grandma and Grandpa and they didn't die." I never looked at my father as I spoke. I was afraid of what I might see. 

"We don't all go out of this world in the same order we came in, Son. Things happen and people die, sometimes before you expect them to." 

I heard Dad's breath catch, so I waited to make sure he was all right before I spoke further. "What kinda things happen?" 

"Oh, sickness, accidents, natural disasters, wars--" 

"But Mum wasn't in a war or somethin', was she?" 

"No. She, uh...she became sick, very suddenly." 

"Like that time she had to stay in bed for a week and Grandma came over and took care of us?" 

"Sicker than that." 

"She couldn't get better?" 

"No. Not this time." 

"Dad?" I broke a short silence. 

"What?" 

"You're not gonna get sick, too, like Mum, are ya?" 

Dad didn't answer until I turned my head to look at him. 

"No, I'm not gonna get sick, Ben. Neither are Grandma or Grandpa or you." 

"I never get sick, Dad. Hardly ever." 

"Good." 

I wriggled myself closer to him and laid my head against his shoulder. When he didn't repel my touch, I placed my arm across his belly, gently at first, then more firmly, as if to hold him in place, with me, in my secret hiding place, safe from the rest of the world. I watched my arm as I felt it rise and fall with each breath I heard him take. I'm not sure which of us fell asleep first. 

But, boy, did Grandma bawl us out after Grandpa had to come after us and drag us home! 

* * *

**THE END**

maryspen@aol.com 


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